


klaus has a bad day

by Anonymous



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Angst, Dehumanization, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Torture, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-13 06:48:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18026813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: I got really mad because klaus' blood patterns didn't match up in the two different scenes where he's being tortured so I wrote something to explain why he has all that extra blood on his chest.  that's it.  that's the fic.





	klaus has a bad day

**Author's Note:**

> torture

****

“I want coffee,” Hazel said.

Cha-Cha would have disagreed and told him to shut up, get the junkie in the closet and his own fat ass out the door so they could burn some shit up, but her mouth was starting to feel weirdly dry, so she just stood there and occasionally smacked the skinny freak as Hazel boiled water in the electric kettle.

Junkie was sniffling now, like. . . almost legit crying, and it was a real relief, if Cha-Cha was honest.  She didn’t like being broken from her routine. Marks were supposed to break, supposed to be scared and scream in pain, and the kid  _ hadn’t  _ and it had  _ really  _ pissed her off.  

_ Kid,  _ she thought.  Junkie couldn’t be more than a couple years younger than her.  Skinny as hell, though. That’s what you got when you ruined your damn system with poison, and she should know-- all the mainlining she’d done before the Commission found her.  Her body was a fuckin’  _ temple  _ now.  

“Please,” junkie mumbled, under his breath.  “Please, I told you, please. . .”

“Shut up,” Cha-Cha said, and for some reason she was really angry now and smacked him harder than she had before.  He cringed forward, away from her hand. She  _ hated  _ him and his stupid bony, pale, drugged-up body, and she hit him again.  

“Hey,” Hazel said, and took a long, obnoxious sip of coffee.  “You ready to go?”

“You got anymore of that water?” Cha-Cha snapped.

“Plenty.”  Hazel turned to look at the kettle.  “Why?”

“Turn it on again.  Get it to boiling.”

“What else do you want out of him?” Hazel asked.  He took another loud sip and flicked the switch to heat up the water again.

“Nothin’.”  Cha-Cha squinted down at the freak, whose head was hanging against his chest and looked to be silently shaking.  “Just wanna make sure we put the fear of God into his stupid ass before we leave.”

“‘Kay.”  Hazel tossed her jacket to her.  “Sit down? Gonna be like, another minute.”

Cha-Cha shoved her arms into the jacket.  “I got the shakes, Hazel. Can’t sit down.  I gotta-- damn, my heart is  _ going.” _

“You good?”  Hazel attempted to take another sip and missed his mouth entirely.  He frowned down at the mug. Behind him, the kettle started shrieking.  

“I’ll be fine.”  Cha-Cha glanced down at the junkie again, hoping he was at least a little bit scared.  “Hear that? That’s water boiling, motherfucker. What ya think it’s gonna do to you?”

“Making me coffee?” the druggie murmured, and a grin split his tear-tracked face.  “I can’t drink coffee. Mom said it’d ruin my liver if I had drugs and coffee at the same ti--”

Cha-Cha slapped him, and he shut up.

“Wish we had more drugs to smash,” Hazel muttered.  

“Yeah, well, we’ll see how he takes that, what, 212 degree water right on his skin.  Pretty sure he won’t get a boner outta that one. C’mon, Hazel!”

“Yeah, yeah.”  Hazel pulled the kettle out of its heater.  “You wanna hold ‘im, or--”

“Gimme that,” Cha-Cha snarled, and grabbed the kettle out of Hazel’s hands.  “You hold him.”

Hazel sighed, looking down at his wrist.  “Why do I always have to do the things that--”

“Now, Hazel!  You want another pay reduction cuz we couldn’t get shit done?”

“Yeah, yeah, torturing this guy is totally relevant to getting shit done,” Hazel muttered, but went around to the back of the druggie’s chair and tilted him backwards, until his chest was horizontal to the floor.

“Look,” came a muffled voice from around the area of Hazel’s crotch.  “This is a good angle but I gotta admit that I’m a little rusty--”

Cha-Cha poured the water on his chest and he  _ screamed.   _

_ God,  _ yes, that was a good sound.  That was an  _ encouraging  _ sound.  It meant that Cha-Cha wasn’t losing her touch, that this guy was just a normal guy with some fuckin’ weird kinks, and that the need to take out her frustrations on him could be met.

“How much water you got in here?” she demanded.

“Like. . . it’s full,” Hazel said, looking lost.

“Good,” Cha-Cha said, and tilted the kettle down again, splashing scalding water on the junkie’s skin and watching him thrash against it.  His skin began to redden rapidly. As Cha-Cha opened the kettle lid, letting a bigger splash of water land on the junkie’s chest, it broke into angry swells of blisters.

The druggie was crying by now, gasping and choking and begging, and every time the boiling water touched his skin he shrieked, fighting against the bonds on his wrists until the skin broke.  

“God, shut him up,” Cha-Cha said.

Hazel slapped a hand over the junkie’s mouth.  Screaming leaked out from between his fingers. 

“Do we have time for more?” Cha-Cha asked, dumping the rest of the water onto the junkie’s chest.  It was as red as a lobster now, and blistered as hell. He’d be bleeding all over, if those broke.

The junkie sobbed around Hazel’s hand, tears leaking out of the edges of his tightly-shut eyes.  

“Nah,” Hazel said.  “Number Five’s gonna get there before us, at this rate.”

“Alright, let ‘im up,” Cha-Cha said disgustedly, and tossed the empty kettle onto the bed.

Hazel set the chair back on its four legs-- too roughly, as it turned out.  The junkie lurched forward, lost his balance, and fell onto the carpet.

_ “Shit,”  _ Hazel said, and hurried to pick him up.

“Don’t tell me he got blood on the carpet,” Cha-Cha said.  

Hazel lifted the chair an inch or so off the ground and peered underneath the freak’s chest.  “Ugh. Yeah, he landed right on his chest. Broke all the blisters and everythin’.”

“ _ Shit,”  _ Cha-Cha echoed.  

“Alright, well-- he’s not dead, and we still have to go.”  Hazel set the chair upright again, carefully, and pulled his jacket on.  “We’ll just put him in the closet, then?”

“Yeah,” Cha-Cha said, distractedly.  The junkie had just hissed something to the extent of “God, get  _ away  _ from me, I  _ hate  _ you” and she didn’t know whether he was speaking to her or his demons.  

Didn’t matter, she supposed.  His neck and upper chest was a mass of ugly, bleeding and broken blisters, and the fear of God, had, hopefully, been properly put into his ass.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Blease tell me i got their voices right lmao


End file.
